


hypothetically speaking

by rosestone



Series: powerfist and cinnamon roll [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Anakin Skywalker Doesn't Turn to the Dark Side, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-25
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2018-09-19 20:58:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9460178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosestone/pseuds/rosestone
Summary: Obi-Wan hadn't thought Anakin could do anything more shocking and un-Jedi-like than marrying Padmé.  Apparently he was wrong.





	

Obi-Wan blinked awake.  Something was beeping nearby.  Not loud enough to be an alarm, not modulated right for a droid – the light was wrong for his berth on the _Negotiator_ , natural instead of harsh electrics, which meant – ah.  Coruscant.  Jedi Temple.  His wrist-comm sat on the bedside table, letting out the gentle tone that indicated a non-priority communication.  He didn’t hear much of it out in the field; most of his communications there were more of the _OH NO A DISASTER_ type, and came with a loud, shrill ringing to match.

He rolled out of bed and considered the comm.  He _could_ ignore it – but on the other hand, he’d clearly overslept, and there were few people who’d already know that he was back onworld.  Might as well see what the fuss was about.

An image of Padmé Amidala sprang up as he touched the comm, curled up in an armchair with a datapad on her lap.  She glanced up at him and smiled.  “I was starting to wonder if you’d left it behind.”

“No, just having a hard time adjusting to being back on Coruscant Standard.  We use it in the fleet, but it can be easy to get out of phase without natural light.”  He covered a yawn.  “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I had a few questions for you about the Order,” Padmé said.  “They can wait, though, if it’s a bad time.”

Obi-Wan waved her objection aside.  “No, no.  I’m curious now myself.”

“Right.”  She glanced back down at the datapad.  “Do midichlorians have a genetic link?”

Obi-Wan blinked at her.  “Well – all of the Korunnai are Force-sensitive, which would seem to say yes, but I don’t know if that holds true among all humans, or all species.  There’s been relatively little research done on the subject, for all the Order’s spent time learning as much as they can about the link between midichlorians and the Force.  Not out of lack of interest, you understand, but lack of useful subjects, since very few Jedi have children, or the sort of strong link to their families that might encourage them to look into the idea.  Though…”  He trailed off, eyes narrowed.  “I know there are at least a few relatives in the Order at the moment, some closer than others, but I couldn’t tell you who.”

“That’s fine,” Padmé said, smiling.  “I’ll put that down as a maybe.”  She’d been tapping away at the datapad as Obi-Wan spoke.  He had the uncomfortable feeling that he was missing something important.

“Next question,” she went on.  “Is it acceptable, generally speaking, for a Jedi with offspring to be close to them?  I assume not, given the Order’s opinions about attachments, but I thought I’d ask.”

“Well,” Obi-Wan said, rubbing at his beard and wondering where this was going.  “Most Jedi have minimal contact with children outside the Order.  There have been a few who ended up joining the Jedi – I don’t think I know any personally, though – and I believe the Council tries to avoid assigning them together.  The parent generally knows better than to cultivate attachments by that point, in any case.”

“I see,” Padmé said, frowning.  She bent over her datapad, typing rapidly.

“Padmé,” Obi-Wan said, “where’s Anakin?  You usually talk to me together – he hasn’t been sent offworld again, has he?”

“No,” she said absently.  “He’s busy.  Nesting.”

“Nesting?” Obi-Wan said, more confused than ever.

“Considering the Council’s opinion on our marriage,” Padmé said, looking back up at him, “what do you think they’d do, hypothetically speaking, if Anakin and I were to have a child?”

Obi-Wan choked on air.

“I’ll put that down as probably negative,” Padmé said, bending back over the datapad.

“You _what_ ,” he managed.

“Obi-Wan,” Padmé said, sitting back up, “I –”

“Do _not_ – hypothetical my _ass_ –” Obi-Wan slapped his hand down onto the comm’s off-switch and stood up, grabbing for yesterday’s clothes where they lay crumpled over a chair.  Pants on, tunic on, where the _fuck_ were his boots, left boot on, right boot – shit, don’t trip – right boot on –

Obi-Wan, in hindsight, didn’t remember very much of his trip to Padmé and Anakin’s apartment, except that he’d taken it probably a great deal faster than he should have.

Most of the security detail was unfamiliar to him.  Rex, temporarily in command as he recovered from two broken legs and a spattering of blaster shots, tried to hail him as he passed.  Obi-Wan ignored it, striding straight to the lounge where Padmé liked to spend her mornings.

She met him at the door.  She didn’t look any different yet, but the new life in her shone – nothing more than a spark now, but a bright one.

“I suppose I should’ve expected this,” Padmé said, mouth quirked.  “Anakin, Obi-Wan’s here!”

“This is _not hypothetical_ ,” Obi-Wan said, dropping his head to his hands.

“Obi-Wan!”  Anakin darted into the room.  He wore an old set of training tunics, now spattered with green paint.  “Come and look.”

The room he led Obi-Wan to was small – it had been a guest room before, he thought.  The furniture had been moved out, and the walls had been painted a rich emerald green, quite recently by the smell.  A frieze of animals in white marched halfway around the lower edge of the walls, ending abruptly by a tin of paint.

“I guess it’s kind of early to start working on it,” Anakin said, a small smile on his lips, “but it isn’t safe for babies to be around fresh paint, I don’t think, and I wanted to do something to celebrate.”

“We went out to dinner, wasn’t that enough?” Padmé said, laughter in her voice, as she stepped between them.

“Well, I can think of some other things –”

“Birth control!” Obi-Wan blurted.

They both turned to stare at him.

“I definitely taught you how to use birth control,” he said, face reddening.

“Yes, you did,” Anakin said.  “It was scarring.  I’ll never forget the experience.”

Padmé raised her eyebrows.  “It couldn’t have been that bad.”

“It really was,” Obi-Wan said, sighing.  “But really, Anakin.  I know you know how _not_ to make babies, and I presume Padmé does too.  How – how did this happen?”

Padmé patted his arm.  “It’s not like we weren’t being safe, Obi-Wan.  You know as well as I do that nothing’s entirely guaranteed.”  She glanced down at her stomach, expression softening.  “I suppose it’d be more sensible to wait until after the war, but… as soon as I knew, it just seemed right, you know?  Like it was what we were supposed to be doing.”

Obi-Wan glanced up at Anakin, who was watching his wife with a rather sappy expression on his face.  “I suppose you aren’t going to be sensible about this.”

“He panicked at first, actually,” Padmé said, “which I presume you would think is sensible.”

“She kicked me out until I calmed down,” Anakin said, wrapping an arm around her waist.  “So I went and meditated.  And, well, you know I don’t have much in the way of precognition, but I agree with Padmé.  This is what’s supposed to happen.  This is right.”

Obi-Wan rubbed his hands over his face.  “This is going to go over _so well_ with the Council.”

Anakin grinned at him.  “Good thing we’ve got you on our side then, isn’t it?”

“I should have let them throw you out,” Obi-Wan said.  “It would save me so much trouble.”  He glared half-heartedly at them, curled together as though there were nowhere either of them would rather be.

“It’ll be all right,” Anakin said.  “I know it sounds strange, but…”  He shrugged.  “I felt awful about lying to everyone, you know.  I kept having these awful dreams where something terrible would happen to Padmé – guilt, I guess.  I haven’t had one since you convinced the Council not to throw me out.”

“I’m so glad my ordeal in front of the Council on your behalf is making you feel better,” Obi-Wan said.  “Just delighted.”

Anakin shifted.  “I can talk to them, if you want.”

Obi-Wan shook his head, sighing.  “You don’t have enough experience annoying them into doing what you want.  Or good enough diplomatic skills.  I’ll do it.  Just… please try not to do anything else shocking, Anakin.  I don’t think I can take anything else.”

“We’ll try our hardest,” Padmé said, nodding.

“As Yoda would say, _there is no try_ ,” Obi-Wan said.  “Please.  Please don’t do anything else.  Just let us beat the Separatists and go back to our normal lives.”

Anakin raised a hand solemnly.  “I promise.  Nothing else weird or shocking is going to happen.  Swear by the Force.”

“You’d better be right,” Obi-Wan said with a sigh.

Though really, what _else_ could Anakin do to upset the Council?

**Author's Note:**

> Based, as always, on the Powerfist and Cinnamon Roll headcanon from tumblr here: http://rosestonewrites.tumblr.com/post/155805901239/marloviandevil-nautolanshenanigans


End file.
